


Tapes

by Blurhawaii



Series: Fargo [3]
Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied Relationships, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-04 23:45:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1797742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blurhawaii/pseuds/Blurhawaii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes a year for the deaf fella to show his face again.</p>
<p>His step falters when he catches sight of her size and she has certainly not been idle these past twelve months so she brings up her hands to cut off any argument.</p>
<p><i>You’re late,</i> she signs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tapes

**Author's Note:**

> I thought this would be the shortest part.
> 
> I was wrong.

*

It takes a year for the deaf fella to show his face again.

His step falters when he catches sight of her size and she has certainly not been idle these past twelve months so she brings up her hands to cut off any argument.

_You’re late,_ she signs.

He moves into the glow of the streetlight and his face is thinner, gaunt almost. It brings up feelings of guilt in Molly; here she is building a family while his was mercilessly stripped from him.

His eyes linger on her bump and she can read the resignation on his face already.

_You’re pregnant,_ he signs back.

She nods and shrugs and says, “I still want to help,” but he’s not convinced.

_It will be dangerous._

And Molly may be learning but the last sign sparks recognition and her hand goes to her hip once again, where her gun rests.

“It’s still my job,” she reminds him and the irony is not lost on them both, a cop reassuring a hitman, but she’s also pretty sure they might actually be friends at this point.

When she falls into step this time, they are more or less equals in the world.

*

Molly thinks about calling home once she’s back in his car, traveling down the same dark, empty road. In the end, though, she decides against it. It’s technically not lying if she says nothing.

She taps his arm to get his attention and slowly signs, _What took you so long?_

In order to answer, he has to juggle the wheel until he’s steering with his elbow. _Almost died,_ he signs too fast and Molly only catches the end and tilts her head in confusion. _A-l-m-o-s-t,_ he reiterates, letter by letter, and then smiles like it’s a joke.

She still doesn’t quite understand and it must show on her face because he twists in his seat and points at his right hip. _I-n-f-e-c-t-e-d,_ he spells, but it’s not until he shifts his attention back to driving that Molly catches sight of the bullet hole in his jacket, the bullet that she’d put in the man, and finally she gets it.

It’s a horrible jacket, she thinks in passing, but it suits him somehow. Even more so now that there are holes torn through it. Damaged but not broken. He must have scrubbed hard to get the bloodstains clean off.

As she takes in the second tattered hole in his shoulder, it’s not guilt Molly feels but something closer to exasperation.

“How can you wear that?” she asks under her breath and then jolts in her seat when she feels a gentle tap on her arm. He’s asking her to repeat herself and when she does he runs his hand down his chest with a revenant air and sighs.

_Seemed appropriate for the job._

And she can’t argue with that.

*

Molly gets him to pull over at every opportunity. She pleads the pregnancy when it clearly starts to grate on him and after a not so subtle glance at her belly, he soon gives in.

In reality, she’s buying time.

She strings together every sign she can remember from the last twelve months and understands some of the answers she gets while not others. On and off, she learns about his brush with death, his difficulty in finding and tracking Malvo after he had healed up, and his inevitable journey back to Bemidji.

The last time they stop, she finds herself sitting across from him in the same diner they’d visited a year ago.

He reaches for a crayon, blue this time, turns over his placemat and begins to write out his plan in full.

Molly nurses her orange juice and waits.

*

They go over the plan again and again until Molly’s arms start to ache. Except, it’s not much of a plan and as she waits in his car outside the same lonely motel, her mind is stuck on the first line he wrote in the diner.

_He’s here for Nygaard._

And while she’s never doubted herself, it’s still nice to know that everything has come full circle and if it all goes the way he seems to think it will, they could finish this thing with both of them behind bars where they belong.

The deaf fella returns to the car then, having gotten what he needed from the room and checked out.

_Ready,_ he asks, and finally after twelve long months, she is.

*

Twenty minutes later, he pulls into another motel, just as bland, just as forgettable, and room number ‘113’ sits right on the corner.

They share one last heavy look between them before they climb out of the car and make their way across the asphalt.

The deaf fella slips around the corner, out of sight but still within reach and Molly takes a steadying breath.

She’s not sure if Malvo knows her face as well as she knows his, so after knocking she turns away and pretends to glance around the courtyard. She’s still decked out in her uniform and that’s the impression she wants to make.

There’s a pause and then a voice filters through the door. “Who is it?”

She can feel a gaze on her but she ignores it. “Police, sir. There’s been an incident in the area and I’d like to ask you a few routine questions.”

The door opens as far as the latch will allow and Malvo appears in the gap. His hair is majorly different but Molly would recognise his face anywhere. He’s dressed like he was on his way out.

“Well boy,” he says, all jovial and fake smiles, “I’d love to answer them but I only just settled in here. I can’t see myself being much help to ya.”

He shows no surprise at her condition and Molly must leave too much empty air between her answer and his because something tense shifts over his forced expression.

And, like that, in an instant, they both know.

Molly’s hand flutters at her hip and she barely has enough time to get out of the way before the deaf fella rushes past and throws his entire weight against the door.

It explodes inwards, taking a chunk of the frame with it, and from her position, Molly can only hear the sounds of struggling and furniture scraping along the floor. The baby gives her second thoughts, a brief moment where she leaves them to battle it out and then her gun is in hand and she steps into the doorway.

She spots an overturned chair, a lamp hanging from its cord off the edge of a table and, most importantly, Malvo and the deaf fella in the centre on the room.

A length of wire, pulled taut around his neck, has Malvo on his toes.

When he had signed the word _‘wire’_ to her earlier, Molly had been hesitant but as she watches the strain in the fella’s arms now, she admits that this is quieter than any gun.

In the struggle, Malvo’s elbow comes down hard into the still tender area of his gut. Now, this man’s had the rare fortune of seeing him in a hospital bed and pressure points are easy to find when you’ve read a guy’s medical chart.

Molly knows this just as well.

Right shoulder, clean through; right hip, no exit wound; and a strained, twisted darkness where his heart should be. Add recent septicemia to the list and it’s no wonder that the hit crumples the fella. 

One end of the wire slips out of his gloved hands and Malvo steps free. He has long enough to reach a hand into pocket before Molly puts him in her sights.

“Freeze, Malvo! Move and I will shoot you.”

She repeats it only once and it seems to remind him that she’s still in the room. He turns to face her, a line of red slashed across his neck, and she’s busy counting down to the moment Malvo is going to charge her, she doesn’t see the deaf fella struggle out of his jacket, wrap it around his fists and barrel into Malvo once again, dragging the wire back into place.

He pulls it so tight that Malvo goes pale white to bright red in an instant and this is exactly the situation Molly had predicted a year ago. If she doesn’t do something soon, this thing is going to end with too many bodies and not enough arrests.

It’s a single floored motel so Molly only has to worry about damages when she fires into the air. The deafening noise, in such an enclosed area, is enough to get everyone to stop, even the one person who can’t hear it.

She meets his eyes over Malvo’s shoulder, pours everything she can into one look, and his hands slowly drop lower and lower until, with a rush of air, Malvo falls to the floor.

And, all of a sudden, it’s over.

Malvo stays on his knees. He looks up at her with an inappropriate smile and Molly makes sure to keep her gun trained on him as she gives the deaf fella a quick onceover.

The tanned jacket is ruined. Blood can be scrubbed out but there’s no coming back from two bullet holes and countless gouges stripped away by razor wire. But it doesn’t really matter, she can tell. After today, he won’t be wearing it anymore.

His whole frame is shaking fiercely and Molly knows what that’s like. She averts her eyes until he can pull himself back together. To be honest, she has little idea what to do with the man now, besides let him go.

There’s an open box sitting on the bed at her side and, for some reason, it catches her attention. Inside is an orderly row of tapes. And there, fourth from the bottom, Lester Nygaard’s name stares back at her.

She reaches for her handcuffs and breathes a sigh of relief.

*

**Author's Note:**

> There we have it, the end.
> 
> I'm still not sure whether this works or not. I just really liked the idea of Wrench taking away Malvo's voice with his hands and I went from there. I also really wanted to take the jacket out of commission and the two overlapped.
> 
> The time skip didn't really change all that much in the end.


End file.
